… Shannon’s fingers itched to smash the man in the face. Inside his head he kept telling himself,
Keep cool, baby, absolutely cool.

Frederick Forsyth

Mots clés fiction

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Yessir. A crutch, like one-legged men always have.

Frederick Forsyth

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It is cold at six-forty in the morning on a March day in Paris, and seems even colder when a man is about to be executed by firing squad.

Frederick Forsyth

Mots clés first-sentence first-lines execution death-penalty first-line frederick-forsyth

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...a woman of quite bovine stupidity and potato-like contours...

Frederick Forsyth

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there is no collective guilt,...guilt is individual, like salvation." [p.28]

Frederick Forsyth

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